Calore Dance Academy// Red Queen AU

Chapter 76

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Old habits die hard.

That's why the crime is too easy. I barely think about it. Instinct just tells me to do it and get the hell out of the Calores' skyscraper.

I come upon the sprawling lobby of the five-star hotel that the family lives above. I haven't been through the grand entrance since I brought Shade for brunch—the Calores have a private entry on Fifty-Seventh Street that we used last night.

I slow my walk, bring the newspaper up to my chest like a safety blanket. I look like a vagrant in my oversized sweatshirt, bedhead, and lack of shoes. The lobby bustles with the comings and goings of suited men who are in New York for business trips. Suitcase wheels roll across the polished floor, talk of Wall Street reverberates through the air, and forks clatter against plates as the businessmen leisurely enjoy their breakfasts.

I hold back a sneer as I slip behind a pillar and start my shoeless walk across the margins of the lobby. For all the money that the men have, they don't seem to be overly busy with work.

Avant-garde, gold and silver chairs wait around glass tables.

One of the tables, recently vacated, still possesses half-eaten breakfasts of bacon, eggs, and French toast upon pristine white plates. A black bill folder rests at the edge of the table, where a convenient and expensive fifty-dollar bill waits.

My hands shake, but not for the reason that they should. With a look around myself, I note that I haven't yet caught the attention of any businessmen.

They're no different than they are out on the streets. They're too busy, too self-absorbed to care that a thief is in their midst.

I would feel bad if the tip was smaller. The waitresses here must be loaded.

So I have no problem at all skirting the table, freeing one of my hands from the newspaper. It sweeps down over the table in a balletic movement.

I can't bring myself to feel regret over it, not when regret already fills me to the brim.

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I don't notice the change block-by-block.

It isn't significant enough. It ebbs and flows as the glittering blue skyscrapers of Midtown transition into the elegant ivory-colored buildings of the Upper East Side. In time, East Harlem overtakes the UES. At 105th Street, my taxi takes a sharp turn right.

I barely remember haggling with the taxi driver, telling him that I know better than to pay twenty dollars for a fifty-block trip. In the end, I push myself out of the taxi with thirty-eight dollars. Even the sidewalk of East Harlem is different than the one lining Billionaires' Row.

The fire escape of the old brick building still looks about ready to fall off. Will's storefront looks as lonesome and grungy as ever. A tailpipe drags against First Avenue as a car older than me drives down it.

My lip quivers and my fists shake as I cross in front of Will's store. I don't look through the dirty glass to see if he's inside. I probably look deranged. The door to the apartment building comes fast enough. I fling it open, throwing myself towards the intercom. The red-brick, dirty antechamber fills with a buzzing ring when I slam my fist down on '4B | BARROW.'